


Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk

by nefarioustortellini



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy takes advantage of Clarke's zero-chill mindset, Bellarke, Clarke has zero chill, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, I'm such bellarke trash I'm sorry, Literally just came into my brain and out onto the page, Roommates, SO MUCH FLUFF, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefarioustortellini/pseuds/nefarioustortellini
Summary: Someone keeps stealing Clarke's milk. (Guess who?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I asked my friend what it was like at college, and the only thing he said was "someone is stealing my milk". And for some reason my brain went, "ooh, Bellarke!" Thus, this fic was born. It's my first, so please be kind.  
> Comments and kudos will literally make my entire life

Someone is stealing Clarke’s milk.

And if she’s being honest, it’s probably not healthy to be this pissed about it. There are lots of other things in the world she could be more pissed about, right? Poverty, war, injustice, et cetera.

But _seriously_. Nothing can compare to the heart-shattering disappointment of pouring yourself a bowl of cereal, going to fridge for milk, taking out your _own carton_ , and finding it _empty_.

The first time it happens, she chalks it up as a possible mistake. She has six roommates. There’s a good chance that one of them just forgot the blue carton was Clarke’s, and used it. So she forgives and forgets, simply pouring the cereal back into the bag and making herself some toast for breakfast instead.

But then three days later, it happens again.

It’s a little more frustrating the second time around, but this _is_ the kind of thing she signed up for when she moved in with six other people. It could be just another mistake, she supposes, so she lets it slide, although she does make sure to write her name on the next milk carton she buys.

And then it happens a _third_ time. Even though her carton clearly has “CLARKE” scrawled right on the front in thick black Sharpie.

Which means that whoever’s using her milk isn’t oblivious. They’re doing this on purpose. They’re _stealing_.

Oh, it’s _on_.

She buys a brand new carton and proceeds to scribble her name in huge writing onto all four sides of the carton as well as a giant “DO NOT USE” on the front. Maybe now they’ll get the hint that she’s caught on.

She cracks it open, has one small glass before bed, and then cautiously puts it into the fridge, pushing it towards the back so it’ll be harder to get at. She even hides it behind Octavia’s humongous jug of orange juice, so the culprit is going to have to be pretty determined to search for it.

The first thing she does the next morning is check the fridge, and sure enough, the carton’s been moved in front of the orange juice, and when she picks it up she can feel that it’s at least three-quarters empty.

Whoever it is, they’re certainly getting bolder. She’s going to have to shut that down quick.

She adds “OR I WILL SLIT YOUR THROAT” underneath the “DO NOT USE” on the carton and puts it back in the fridge. Oh yeah, she means business. That should teach ‘em.

The next day when she checks it, there’s hardly half an inch of milk left inside.

What the _fuck_.

Sighing, Clarke drinks the last tiny bit of milk, makes herself some toast, and takes a seat at the kitchen table, considering following through with her threat. It’s probably not Octavia, she thinks. Or Raven. Neither of them would be this invested in stealing her milk for no particular reason. Jasper is a possibility, but Clarke feels like if it _was_ him, then she would have caught him stealing it already. The boy isn’t exactly subtle.

Monty wouldn’t steal a thing, precious child that he is. Bellamy and Miller both would, though. If she had to guess, she’d say it was Bellamy, although Miller has an air of mischief about him. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was him. Or maybe the two of them are in cahoots.

There’s a tapping sound, and Clarke glances up. Bellamy stands in the kitchen doorway, holding up her now-empty milk carton, covered in her messy scrawls. “A little possessive, are we?” he asks dryly.

Clarke sighs, dropping her chin into her palm. “Someone’s stealing my milk.” Her voice is whiny, like a petulant child’s, and Bellamy smirks.

“And you think scribbling your name all over the carton is going to stop them?”

“No, but I’m willing to try anything at this point. Do you have any idea how disappointing it is to pour yourself a bowl of cereal and go to put milk in it, only to discover that there’s _no damn milk_ left in the carton? It’s heartbreaking, Bellamy. Fucking _heartbreaking_.”

His smirk softens, melting into a tiny lopsided smile that makes her heart flip unexpectedly. “Clearly. Your life is so difficult.”

“I’m ignoring your sarcasm. This is a real issue.” Clarke tries to keep a straight face, but his grin just grows, and eventually the corners of her own mouth lift, because honestly she just can’t help it. Not when he gives her _that_ smile; the sweet, private one that softens his face and makes his eyes crinkle at the edges and seems to be reserved just for her.

“Well, I hope you find the culprit,” says Bellamy, tapping his finger absently on the side of the milk carton.

“Yeah, so do I,” she mutters. “I’m getting sick of toast.”

Miller shuffles sleepily into the kitchen, greeting the two of them with a simple nod, and grabs a banana before plopping down next to Clarke at the table. Only then does he realize what Bellamy’s holding.

“Is that a milk carton?”

“An _empty_ milk carton,” Clarke bitterly clarifies.

Miller squints at it. “What’s written on it?”

“Clarke’s attempt at stopping the Notorious Milk Thief,” Bellamy explains, smirking.

“Someone is _stealing my milk!”_ she exclaims, slamming her palm down on the table as Bellamy hands Miller the carton to examine. “And I don’t know how to get them to stop! I just want some milk so I can have some proper cereal for a damn change.”

Miller doesn’t look impressed, simply hands the carton back to Bellamy and returns to his banana, evidently too tired to comment. He may be many things, but a morning person is not one of them.

“I have to get to work,” Bellamy says, placing the carton down on the table in front of Clarke. “Good luck, Sherlock.”

With that, he’s gone, and Clarke is left suspiciously eyeing the carton, wondering if she can dust it for fingerprints.

As it turns out, she can’t, and she has to resort to other means of detective work – a stakeout.

She decides that the crime has to be committed at night, since she’s started to check the carton before she goes to bed and the milk is _always_ gone in the mornings. So she carefully clears all the pots and pans out of a cupboard after everyone else has gone to bed and slides inside with Monty’s flashlight and a determination to catch the perpetrator.

An hour passes, then two, then three. Clarke’s starting to ache from being cramped up inside this stupid cupboard, and her eyelids keep drooping no matter how uncomfortable it is. But her stubbornness is winning out, and she grips the flashlight tighter, refusing to leave until she catches the thief.

3:00 am rolls around, and Clarke is now seriously wondering if her milk is really this important to her, and maybe she should just go to bed and ask the others about it tomorrow to see if anyone fesses up because she’s _so damn tired_ —

But then she hears a rustling sound, and immediately snaps fully awake. Without hesitation, she shoves open the cupboard door and tumbles out, fumbling for the flashlight. She flicks it on and points it toward the fridge, the beam landing on…

_“I knew it!”_

Bellamy stands there, looking utterly shocked, Clarke’s milk carton in one hand and an empty glass in the other. Clarke waves the flashlight around triumphantly.

“I fucking _knew_ it was you! You dick, get your own damn milk!”

Bellamy blinks, looking past her to the pile of pots and pans on the floor and the open cupboard door. “The fuck did you come from? Narnia?”

“Don’t change the subject!” Clarke moves closer to him, fixing the flashlight beam on his face. “You have the right to remain silent!”

His shocked expression molds into one of amusement, and his mouth curves up. “Seriously, Clarke? You hid in the _cupboard?”_

“Hey, I am not the one who should be mocked right now! You’ve been stealing my milk, you asshole!”

He chuckles softly and replaces the milk in the fridge. “The first time really was a mistake,” he explains. “I was late for work and in a hurry and I just grabbed yours without thinking. And then I realized it was yours and waited for you to come strangle me with my own spinal cord for stealing it.” He shrugs. “But you didn’t say anything. So I just kept going and waiting for you to confront the rest of us about it.”

“You asshole,” Clarke repeats, but there’s no venom behind it.

“It was kind of fun,” he says, grinning. “Watching you play detective. You were so determined to find out who it was. It was, uh, pretty cute, honestly.”

Clarke’s eyebrows go up. _Cute?_ She doesn’t think she’s ever in her life heard Bellamy refer to anything as ‘cute’ before. Especially not _her_.

“Cute?” she repeats, and the smile freezes on Bellamy’s face. “You thought I was cute?”

He shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, but even in the dim lighting of the flashlight, she can see a scarlet blush creeping up his neck. “I mean, I – I kind of always think you’re cute, but, uh… especially cute when you’re trying to solve a mystery,” he answers hesitantly, eyes flicking down to the floor, shifting his weight.

Damn, Bellamy Blake, infamous womanizer, is _flustered_. Because of _her_.

Clarke breaks into a smile, and Bellamy looks up at her. “Uh, you’re not saying anything, and I’m getting a little nerv—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off as Clarke loops her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his. The kiss is soft, sweet, chaste. It surprises him at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her back.

She pulls away after a moment and just looks at him. His eyes are soft, full of affection, and all of it directed towards her. He leans down and gently rests his forehead against hers.

“You’re pretty cute, too,” she tells him. “Even if you _are_ a dirty-ass thief.”

That makes him laugh, and he has to take a second before he kisses her again.

“Seriously,” she murmurs against his lips. “You owe me like six cartons of milk.”

Bellamy pulls back to press another kiss to the tip of her nose. “How about I just take you to dinner and we call it even?”

“Yeah,” Clarke answers, unable to keep the smile off her face. “That sounds pretty fair to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Please leave behind a comment or kudos if you enjoyed it :)


End file.
